


A Sweeter Life

by Brumeier



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Family, First Kiss, First Meetings, Growing Old Together, Light Angst, M/M, Memorials, Tourism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24443203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: Dr. Rodney McKay lived a secluded and mysterious life, and after his passing his estate is opened up to the public. Billie, the tour guide, hopes to dispel the stupid rumors and reveal the true story of Rodney's life.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 28
Kudos: 107
Collections: What If? AU Challenge





	A Sweeter Life

**Author's Note:**

> Written for whatif_au: tourism

_In my wildest dreams, I could not have imagined a sweeter life. (Hugh Hefner)_

“Welcome to Atlantis!” Billie said, throwing her arms out dramatically. 

They were at the gate, the tour group clustered around the guardhouse with their phones out, snapping pictures and taking short videos even though the VidCam floating over everyone’s heads would record the entire tour (for sale afterwards, of course). Atlantis had only been opened to the public that year, and interest had been through the roof.

Billie loved running the tours, dressed in a vintage flight attendant suit – including the jaunty little cap – from the 1960s, which had nothing to do with the time period of the tour, she just liked how she looked in it. She was a natural entertainer, and acting as tour guide was the most fun she’d had in ages. Plus, no-one knew the history of Atlantis better than she did. 

“Guests were only permitted by invitation,” Billie explained. “Their names would be on a computerized list, which could change daily or even by the hour.”

“Did anyone ever try to sneak in?” asked one of the guests, a waifish looking man dressed all in black.

“There were attempts over the years. Some were just lookie-loos, others had been ostentatiously snubbed. But security on the estate is top-notch, always has been. No-one ever made it inside that wasn’t invited.”

_“John Sheppard. I’m here for an interview.”_

_The guy in the black suit inside the guardhouse examined John’s identification and checked it against the computer. “No interview.”_

_John frowned. He’d been led to believe the interview was a sure thing, a mere formality to being hired. It was a favor for a friend, something to do until he figured out the next phase of his life, post-Air Force._

_“There was a letter,” he said. “Confirming my appointment at noon.”_

_“You’ve been hired,” the guy said._

_“What? Sight unseen?”_

_“Triton does things his own way,” the guy replied with a grin._

_John had been briefed enough to know that Triton was the codename for the man who owned and lived in Atlantis, Dr. Rodney McKay. Who was seemingly as eccentric as the media made him out to be._

_Instead of interviewing, John filled out a heaping pile of paperwork. All the usual financial stuff, plus a large non-disclosure agreement and a non-fraternization agreement. He was fingerprinted, photographed, and fitted for a black suit like he was a government employee instead of private security._

_His cell phone was confiscated – no personal phones or recording devices were allowed on the premises – and he was given an earbud that would connect him with the rest of security personnel._

_John was there for five hours, getting briefed and shown around the grounds, which would be his zone. There was separate security for inside the massive estate house. He was issued a stun gun, of a sophisticated type he’d never seen before, and a plain white badge that had a chip on one side and nothing else to note who he was or where he now worked._

_When he got back to his apartment that night, John put a call through to his buddy Nate, who worked for the CIA._

_“I’m in.”_

*o*o*o*

“Atlantis occupies five acres of meticulously maintained grounds, which we’ll explore before we go inside the house,” Billie said, walking backward so she could directly address her group. “Most famously, it’s home to a cat sanctuary, a fully-functional observatory, and the pool and grotto.”

She knew everyone would want to see the grotto, infamous from parties held in the old days. It was part of the extensive pool complex, which was heated and also included two large built-in hot tubs. Billie herself preferred the sanctuary, which was home to over thirty-five cats of varying breed and age, all rescues.

“Dr. McKay was very fond of cats and would take in any stray he came across. There were several house cats, but the rest live out here.”

The sanctuary was fully enclosed, to keep the cats safe from wandering too near the road or getting attacked by predators. There were plushly appointed wooden cat houses for when the weather was bad, and plenty of things for them to climb on or hide in, and room enough to wander.

“The cats receive regular visits from the local veterinarian, and there are two people on staff that are solely charged with caring for them.”

“Must be a big food bill,” one of the guests commented.

“A fund was set up several years ago to make sure the cats would continue to be well taken care of.”

_Five acres was a large area to patrol, but it sure wasn’t boring. There were several different types of gardens, including some pornographic topiaries, a koi pond, an apple orchard, and the cat sanctuary._

_The sanctuary was where John met his employer for the first time. McKay was sitting on a bench, watching the cats do their thing, his personal security – a giant of a man named Ronon who wore his hair in dreadlocks and looked like he could snap John like a twig – a discreet distance away. John couldn’t help but wonder what kind of man needed to be guarded on the grounds of his own home, which was supposedly impregnable._

_“Sir,” John said politely. He intended to keep walking his beat, but McKay waved him over._

_“You’re the new guy. Shetland.”_

_“Sheppard.”_

_McKay flapped a hand at him like his name didn’t matter. “Have a seat. Do you like cats?”_

_John glanced at Ronon, who almost imperceptibly tipped his head, before sitting next to McKay on the sun-warmed bench. McKay was wearing flannel pants and a Doctor Who t-shirt. He was even more good-looking in person than on TV or in the countless articles that were run about him._

_“I’m more of a dog person.”_

_“Cats are smarter. Are you wondering why I didn’t interview you?”_

_“I assume I had an excellent resume.”_

_McKay huffed out a laugh. “I dug a little deeper into your slim list of accomplishments. You seem competent, if not living up to your potential.”_

_John had no idea what to say to that._

_“You could be a good fit here, Sherman.”_

_“Sheppard.”_

_“Whatever. When you’re ready for more, I can make that happen.”_

_If that was a proposition, John wasn’t going to respond to it. McKay was notorious in the press for his many liaisons. Besides, there was the non-fraternization policy._

_“Ronon. Heading back,” McKay said. Just like that he got up and wandered back toward the house._

*o*o*o*

“Welcome to the grotto!” Billie said with a grin. “The most infamous location on the entire Atlantis grounds.”

The pool was enormous, and the grotto was right in the middle of it, a series of ledges and a swim-through cavern crafted of concrete made to look like natural stone. At night there’d be underwater lights.

“The grotto has been the scene of many a romantic liaison. Atlantis hosted monthly parties with an ever-rotating guest list, from the biggest, most flamboyantly out celebrities to the so-called regular people who worked on the magazine. Gay or straight, an Atlantis party was the most sought-after event anywhere.”

One of the guests held up their hand and waited for Billie to acknowledge her before she spoke. “Is it true that there were orgies in the grotto?”

Billie rolled her eyes. “There was a lot of speculation about what happened here, but very little actual fact. Dr. McKay expected his guests to follow a stringent set of rules. The alcohol flowed freely, but no hardcore drugs were allowed on the premises, and any sexual liaisons were to be kept behind closed doors. Which doesn’t mean some people didn’t sneak around anyway, but it wasn’t the drug-fueled free-for-all the press made it out to be.”

_John was apprehensive about working his first Atlantis party. He’d heard the rumors, same as everyone else, and knew he needed to keep his eyes open. His CIA buddy would expect a full report._

_Every guest had a wristband encoded with a scannable barcode, and every member of security had a small scanner that would give them all the pertinent details about the guest. It was surprisingly organized for what was supposed to be a big orgy._

_Like most things John was discovering about Atlantis, the media hype didn’t live up to the reality. As far as he could tell, it was a very normal type of party. Waiters were making the rounds with trays of canapes and glasses of wine, there was an open bar by the pool, and a DJ providing the music. People danced and swam and played cornhole and volleyball, but the most John saw was a little heavy petting. No-one was naked, people weren’t fucking in the pool._

_“Not what you expected,” Ronon said with a grin._

_“Nope,” John admitted. “A little less depraved than I was led to believe.”_

_“Triton wants his guests to feel safe here. No manhandling, no open-air sex. Plenty of other places they can go for that kind of thing.”_

_Definitely not what John had expected. Less so spotting McKay on a second-floor balcony, alone, drink in hand as he watched the festivities below. At no time during the night did John see the man join his own party or couple up with any of the guests. Another eccentricity maybe, but it gave John the impression of a man who was lonely, who kept himself apart._

_“Not much of a party animal, is he?” John asked Ronon later, as the party was winding down and guests were going off to their rooms._

_“He’s a complicated guy,” was all Ronon would say._

_As John escorted the guests that weren’t staying over to the front gate, where taxis were waiting, he pondered the mystery that was Rodney McKay._

*o*o*o*

“Now we come to the estate house.” Billie paused on the front walk, by the big fountain. “They call this the house that porn built, but that’s not accurate either. Like so much about Dr. McKay and his legacy.

“The house itself was built in 1927 in the Gothic-Tudor style for Andrew Cavill, who was an inventor and engineer. Dr. McKay bought the property from Cavill’s heirs and had it fully renovated. He was making a lot of money by that time thanks to Gayboy magazine and was looking for a place he could have plenty of privacy.”

The waif in black asked, “Is it true that he started the magazine when he was sixteen?”

Billie nodded. “True. Dr. McKay’s father was an abusive man, moreso when his son revealed at an early age that he preferred his own gender over women. He started the magazine because he felt isolated in his queerness. Sometimes he’d take the train into the city and go to queer balls and drag clubs, even performing himself a few times as Lady Meredith, but he never truly felt part of the community.”

Those photographs had never seen the light of day, presumably destroyed. But Billie had seen the only one that still existed, locked away. As a teenaged boy, Dr. McKay had made a stunning drag queen.

“Dr. McKay was looking for a shared experience, so he started Gayboy. The magazine was a way to reach out to other queer kids like himself, isolated by geography or family from a wider gay experience. Now it’s a multi-billion-dollar enterprise, with virtual clubs, e-books, a movie studio, and a streaming service. And Atlantis became a place where gay men and women from all over the queer and trans spectrum could come and be safe, from police raids and protests and random acts of violence.”

“Patron saint of queers?” someone asked, causing a ripple of laughter.

Billie raised an eyebrow. “Far from it. Dr. McKay had as many faults as he did virtues. He kept himself secreted away in his mansion, rarely venturing out. He was acerbic and could be mean. He never really got over the way his father treated him. But he managed to do some good, too. He didn’t hoard his wealth. He wanted to give other queer people the support he never had.”

Dr. McKay had been vilified by the press and canonized by the queer community. Somewhere in the middle, as Billie knew, was the real man.

_John didn’t have any personal interaction with McKay again until he ran into the man at the fountain by the front entrance, with its oversized double wooden door. McKay was sitting on the edge of the fountain, one hand dragging through the water and the other holding a thick book on the subject of aeronautical engineering._

_“Ah. Sheppard. Still with us, I see.” He didn’t look up from the book. “Finding everything you expected?”_

_“Not sure what you mean by that,” John replied._

_“Why did you leave the Air Force?” McKay asked._

_“We disagreed on the value of individual lives.”_

_McKay looked up. “Do you miss it?”_

_“Sometimes,” John said honestly. He missed flying. Missed his friends, the ones who were still alive. Missed having a greater purpose._

_“It may not seem like it, but what you’re doing here matters. It’s not just cats who need a sanctuary, you know. Everyone needs a break from the idiots and morons that inhabit the rest of the world, ready to lash out against what they don’t understand.” McKay returned his attention to his book. “I’m having a movie screening tomorrow night. Be there.”_

_“That part of my job?” John asked._

_“You’ll be off-duty.”_

_“Then maybe you want to ask instead of demand.”_

_John knew he was taking a chance, speaking to his employer that way. But then he’d never done well being told what to do, ironic for a man who’d voluntarily joined the military._

_McKay didn’t look up, but his lips quirked as if he wanted to smile. “You should come. If you want to.”_

_Still not asking, technically speaking. John fought back a smirk of his own._

_“I’ll check my date book.”_

*o*o*o*

After everyone had a chance to gawk at the fancy entryway of the house, Billie took them down the side stairs to the basement.

“Something not a lot of people realize is that Dr. McKay’s title wasn’t merely an honorific. He held a Ph.D in astrophysics. If not for running Gayboy magazine, and everything that entailed, he probably would’ve been a renowned scientist.”

“Is that why he has an observatory?” one of the guests asked.

“Absolutely,” Billie confirmed. “And down here in the basement, Dr. McKay had a series of state-of-the-art labs installed. A lot of prominent gay physicists and aeronautical engineers got their start down here, with all the funding and equipment they could ever hope for. An innumerable number of patents are held by the McKay Foundation.”

The basement was a stark contrast to the elegant antiquity of the estate house. Everything was clean and white and sterile. Each door they passed was etched with a number, and the name plates mounted on the wall would have been filled with the names of whoever was working in a particular lab at a particular time. Billie led them past every door until they got to the last one, which was etched with _McKay_.

“This was his personal lab space, where he’d come when he needed some time to himself.” 

Billie opened the door, showing off a large space filled with two parallel lab tables, an office area with a metal desk and a heavily-cushioned chair, countless sleek supply cabinets, various pieces of electronic equipment, and walls covered in white boards that still held some of Dr. McKay’s equations written in his own hand. (Nothing proprietary, of course.)

The lab was roped off just inside the door, giving enough space for the guests to gather and take a good look without being able to touch anything.

“Dr. McKay and his revolving group of scientists were at the forefront of smart home technology, which accounts for the bulk of his patents, as well as personal protection equipment for our brave military personnel.”

_“Put this on,” McKay said._

_It was the first time John had been asked inside the estate house for something that wasn’t related to regular movie nights (which were more like_ Mystery Science Theater 3000 _experiences, the way McKay would comment on every movie with biting sarcasm and corrections for all the bad science)._

_“What is it?” John asked, accepting the black silicone band embedded with a glowing green microchip._

_“If you put it on, I’ll show you.” McKay made hurry-up motions with his hand. He was an impatient guy. “It won’t hurt. We’ve already tested it.”_

_John wasn’t sure a media mogul could also be a scientific expert, but he gamely pulled the band up over his hand and settled it around his wrist. It was tight, not uncomfortably so, and nothing zapped him, so he figured he was safe enough._

_“No, no. Like this.”_

_McKay had him turn his hand palm-side up and worked the wristband around so the microchip was directly over the pulse-point there. McKay’s hands were warm._

_“Now tap the chip, just once.”_

_John did as requested, startled when he saw a flash of green and felt the barest hum of something moving over his skin. McKay beamed at him._

_“See? Perfect!”_

_John looked down at himself, but he didn’t see anything. “I don’t get it.”_

_Without warning, McKay picked something metal and heavy-looking off the lab table and threw it directly at John’s face._

_“What the_ fuck?”

_John put his arms up and tried to side-step, but the thing never touched him. It got within an inch of his face and fell harmlessly to the floor with a heavy clank._

_“What just happened?”_

_“This is something my team has been working on,” McKay said proudly. “Think of it as a personal force-field. Nothing can penetrate it.”_

_Whoa. That was some straight-up sci-fi stuff right there. “Really?”_

_“It hasn’t been fully tested in battle situations yet, but I imagine it’ll hold up. Just think of being able to walk away from IEDs and plane crashes!”_

_That caught John right under the breastbone, a momentarily painful pressure. “This is for the military?”_

_“Don’t be stupid. Of course it is. Who would most benefit from this? American soldiers, that’s who. Like you were.”_

_John thought of Mitch and Dex, and Holland. “Pretty cool,” he conceded, “until a foreign power gets hold of it.”_

_McKay just rolled his eyes. “Please. You think I haven’t taken that into consideration? Every chip becomes attuned to one person’s unique biorhythmic signature. If someone else tries to wear it, or the person it’s linked to ceases to have a pulse, the coding inside self-destructs like a_ Mission: Impossible _tape. Un-hackable. And I’ve had a group of hackers really trying.”_

_“You sure you want to help create an indestructible military force?” John asked. He wished he’d had one of the wrist bands in Afghanistan. Wished Holland had had it. But he could also see the inherent dangers of that type of technology, no matter whose hands it fell into._

_“We’re still working out the details,” McKay said vaguely. “You can take that off now. Double tap the chip to deactivate it.”_

_“You’re a dangerous guy,” John said, handing the wristband back over._

_“I know.”_

*o*o*o*

Billie led the guests through the first floor of the estate house, showing them the game room with the bank of 1980s arcade games, the movie room full of plush couches and chairs, the dining room with what had to be the longest table ever made, and the wing that was devoted to the day-to-day running of Gayboy magazine, including a fully-outfitted photo studio.

“Here we have the Atlantis kitchens,” Billie said, gesturing at the gleaming stainless-steel countertops and appliances. “Dr. McKay’s longest-running chef, Evan Lorne, worked out of this kitchen for almost two decades before going on to run his own Michelin-star restaurant. He didn’t only cook for Dr. McKay, but also for his staff and guests, be it an intimate gathering for ten or one of the big parties for a hundred. And everything had to be citrus free in deference to Dr. McKay’s food allergy.”

In fact, Chef Evan had maintained a board of do’s and don’ts for everyone that regularly ate at Atlantis. He knew their favorite dishes, what, if anything, they were allergic to, and when their birthdays were so he could make them something special.

“Whenever Dr. McKay went out of town, usually for business, Chef Evan went with him. He didn’t trust anyone else to prepare his food.”

_Three months in, McKay added John to his offsite security detail. John joined an entourage that included Ronon, his usual bodyguard, his personal assistant, Laura, his personal physician, Carson, his driver, Teyla, and even his cook, Evan._

_They secured a penthouse suite that McKay would be living out of while he did some talk shows and print interviews in Los Angeles. John would have to find time to slip away, because Nate wanted to meet up and see how things were going. He had a lot of mixed feelings about that._

_“Sheppard,” McKay said once he got settled in. “Go with Evan. Make sure he gets you something you like.”_

_John raised an eyebrow at that, but McKay just glared at him. It was a standoff, so John took possession of Evan’s large quantities of reusable grocery bags and followed him out to the elevator._

_“Imperious,” John muttered under his breath._

_“You’ll get used to it,” Evan replied with a grin._

_They spent the day getting driven to different food markets, where Evan chose fresh meat, fish, and produce with a critical eye. At Grand Central Market, he insisted that Teyla join them for lunch at a barbecue place where they knew Evan by name._

_“Wow. This is amazing!” John had been dubious about real barbecue in California, but the burnt ends Evan had recommended were beyond delicious and as good as anything he’d had in Texas._

_“Evan knows all the best food places wherever we go,” Teyla said. She was digging into a large kale salad, and John wondered if she was a vegetarian. Who else would willingly eat kale?_   
_“We’ll have some time before we head back to the hotel,” Evan said, a smear of barbecue sauce on one cheek. “Did you want to meet with your handler?”_

_John froze in mid-chew. “What?”_

_Teyla looked amused. “You are working with the FBI. Or the CIA. We are not sure which agency. Ronon suspects NSA.”_

_If Evan and Teyla knew, that could only mean one thing._

_“He knows, doesn’t he?”_

_Evan nodded. “He always knows.”_

_“Then why keep me on?”_

_“He has nothing to hide,” Teyla said. “He is not what people think he is. And still they persist in trying to uncover things that do not exist.”_

_John couldn’t help but agree with that. The longer he worked at Atlantis, the more he learned that the general public knew very little about Dr. Rodney McKay and what happened at the estate._

_“CIA,” John admitted. “And I’m done with that. It’s not like I have any dirt to share anyway.”_

_Teyla nodded. “He was right to bring you in, John.”_

_“Agreed,” Evan said. “Hey, when’s your birthday? I make a killer tiramisu.”_

_And just like that the conversation changed, and John’s affiliations with government agencies was never brought up again. He never regretted his decision to tell Nate he was done playing spy._

_McKay deserved better._

*o*o*o*

“Atlantis was a sanctuary for a lot of people,” Billie said, leading her group down the second-floor hall to the last stop on the tour. “The scientists who worked in the labs stayed in apartments over the pool house and the carriage house. Friends of Dr. McKay’s who were struggling personally or professionally were always welcome to stay here.”

She paused outside the last door at the end of the hall, the only room beyond the basement labs that required a thumbprint scan to gain entry.

“Most of all, this was Dr. McKay’s sanctuary. The one place he could be himself, could feel safe. He surrounded himself with friends and family, acquaintances and staff, so he never had to be alone.” Billie scanned her thumb and unlocked the door. “But when he _did_ want to be alone, he’d retreat to this room. His inner sanctum.”

It was arguably the most anticipated spot on the tour after the grotto. Dr. McKay’s private quarters. As stark and sterile as the labs had been, his bedroom was the exact opposite. The bed was enormous and covered in the most high-end bedsheets possible at the time Dr. McKay was sleeping in it. The en suite bathroom was like a day spa, complete with a steam shower and soaker tub.

The walls were lined in shelves, and they were crammed full of books – personal journals, pulp novels, professional journals, educational tomes. Mixed in with the books were trinkets, some that Dr. McKay had gathered on his travels and others he was given, and seemingly random bits of electronics. The shelves around the wall-mounted television were full of DVD boxed sets, most of them sci-fi movies and TV series – every version of Star Trek and Star Wars, Firefly, Farscape, Dr. Who – and unboxed action figures to go along with all his favorite series.

“These are pictures of his family?” one of the guests asked. 

There were framed photographs on every flat surface in the room, and only in the inner sanctum. Dr. McKay kept his family ties as private as possible, given the amount of publicity that surrounded him.

“Yes. Dr. McKay’s family – except for his parents – meant the world to him. He took care of them however he could.”

He only had one sibling, Jeannie, but she’d had four children, and they’d had children, and Dr. McKay had loved them all.

“Whenever his family would come to visit, he’d make sure there were no other visitors on the grounds. He threw lavish parties for the kids and massive egg hunts at Easter.”

On the nightstand were pictures of Dr. McKay with his husband and their own children, and Billie knew there were photo albums in the drawers. Everything had been digitized, but Dr. McKay had still liked having the tangible items to touch and study.

Billie loved the inner sanctum. It was warm and cozy and full of memories, and the place on the estate that felt the most like the real Dr. McKay.

_John was working his fifth Atlantis party in as many months, and it was becoming old hat. He was getting to know the regulars, and they him, and he knew who and what to keep an eye out for._

_Mostly he was keeping an eye on McKay who, as per usual, was watching the festivities from his balcony._

_John and McKay had gotten pretty comfortable around each other since that first day at the sanctuary, enough so that John felt it would be perfectly fine for him to yell up at McKay, loud enough to be heard over the noise of the party._

_“Hey! McKay!”_

_McKay leaned over the balcony rail, scowling. “What?”_

_“Permission to come aboard?”_

_“What the hell are you talking about?”_

_John rolled his eyes. “I’m coming up!”_

_He’d been everywhere on the grounds, and inside the estate house. Everywhere but McKay’s bedroom. John would be lying if he said he hadn’t wondered what it was like in there. Or what it might be like to be in there with McKay. When he reached the door, he paused for a long moment, fist raised to knock, heart pounding in his chest like a teenager about to go on his first date._

_The door swung open before he could bring his fist down, or possibly change his mind, and McKay was standing there in a Transformers t-shirt and blue flannel pants._

_“You just gonna stand there all night or what?”_

_John didn’t know what possessed him, honestly. Maybe it was McKay’s rumpled clothes, or the way his mouth was twisting down on one side. Maybe it was five months of watching the man watch his own parties but never participate, even though there were undoubtedly countless men who’d happily keep him company. Maybe it was the connection he’d felt growing between the two of them after so many nights watching movies side-by-side in the dark._

_John leaned in and kissed McKay square on his twisty mouth._

_McKay pulled back almost immediately, eyes wide. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”_

_“Uh…”_

_“No-one puts the moves on Rodney McKay!”_

_John’s stomach started to twist, and then McKay was kissing_ him _and his brain short-circuited. All his nerve-endings were on fire. He never wanted it to end._

*o*o*o*

Billie watched the bus pull away, all the guests on it and heading back to their hotel. As much as she enjoyed giving the tours, she was also glad when they were over. Atlantis was a lot of ground to cover.

She had the gatekeeper close and lock the front gates, and then headed back to the cat sanctuary. With the crowd cleared away, she knew she’d find her grandfather there, sitting on the bench and watching the cats.

“Hey, Granddad,” Billie said, dropping down next to him. She kicked her shoes off and flexed her toes in the soft grass.

“Good group today?”

“Yeah. No-one giving their own lectures on what a pervert the great Rodney McKay was this time.” Billie made a face. “I wish I didn’t have to be so nice. Pops would’ve verbally destroyed that guy in ten words or less.”

“You tell the real story,” Granddad said, patting her on the arm. “That’s what counts.”

Billie wondered what the tour groups would say if they knew Dr. McKay’s husband was still living on the grounds. Not in the estate house, which he said was too big for just one old man, but in the newly renovated apartment over the pool house.

“I really miss him sometimes,” she said, leaning so she could rest her head on Granddad’s shoulder. He put an arm around her.

“Me too. But that crusty old asshole is still here,” Granddad said fondly. “He’s practically haunting Atlantis.”

Billie snorted out a laugh. She’d been lucky enough to grow up in Atlantis, running around the grounds with her brothers. Pops had stood by her when she came out as trans to her family, supported her every step of the way. She’d had the best of everything because of him.

And he’d had the best of everything because of Granddad, the man he’d finally allowed himself to be happy with.

“He told me once that he couldn’t have imagined a sweeter life for himself,” Billie said. “That’s all he wanted for any of us.”

Granddad gave her a squeeze. He’d never been good at talking about how he was feeling, but Billie knew. He and Pops had a pretty epic romance. She could only hope she’d find someone like that for herself someday, someone to grow old with. It was a pretty high bar.

“Come on, old man,” she said. She got up, scooped up her shoes, and pulled Granddad to his feet. He was still pretty spry for a man in his eighties. “I’ll make you a turkey sandwich.”

They walked back to the pool house arm in arm. Billie could easily imagine her beloved Pops right there beside them, making fun of Granddad’s gray hair and questioning Billie’s choice of tour guide outfit.

Gone now, but never forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** There I was, watching _America’s Book of Secrets_ , and they did a piece on the Playboy Mansion. Interesting stuff. And then my muse was like, “Imagine if Rodney was Hugh Hefner.” ::shakes head:: Why, muse? Why? But really, how could I say no to Gayboy magazine? LOL!
> 
> Thanks to nagi_schwarz for the speedy beta and encouragement.


End file.
